It's aaall gravy. And custard

You know that stubborn, middle-aged and slightly technophobic man we've all had to put up with at some point in our lives? You know the type. He's usually in his mid-fifties, only a few years away from succumbing permanently to the guilty geriatric pleasure of elastic waistbands and is probably the sort of person who has responded to the realisation that his ear-hair has grown longer than his hairline by completely shaving his head in a tragically failed attempt to try and prove that he doesn't care.

We're talking about the sort of man who still owns the same Nokia 1610 that was outdated when he bought it in 1997, and who feels the need to disdainfully point out to anyone who's oh-so-clearly wasted their money on a phone released in the current millennium that 'you only need a phone to make calls!' The kind of technologically-resistant figure that's becoming rarer and rarer thanks to the ever-increasing relevance of the smartphone to the older generations, mostly due to the advent of cheap iOS apps for playing Bridge on the move as well as the odd game of Foxy Bingo. But if you think back just a few years, it shouldn't be too hard to remember just how annoying these people were.

So it is with regret that I tell you that I have become that person. Well, hopefully minus the fondness for stretchy waistbands. But after a week trying to sort out a working French mobile, I've been left a broken man.

Having spent most of the last week trying to put together the stupidly long list of requirements necessary for a new phone contract in France, I finally returned to the shop to get it sorted. In a typical display of French efficiency, it took almost an hour and a half before I left with my new SIM card, which would have been understandable if they'd needed to do anything more than photocopy my passport and nod sagely at the pile of paperwork I'd brought them. But eventually I got out, went home and tried it out.

Everything seemed to be working. I could send texts, my BBM still seemed to work and I even managed to successfully download and play a bit of Bomberman vs Zombies. Delighted, I dialled in my home number to let people know I'd finally got a French number, only to be faced with an error- All outgoing calls blocked. 

Why is nothing ever easy in France? After a bit of testing, it turned out I couldn't receive calls either, so I'd signed up to a phone contract with which I couldn't actually phone anyone. After going into the shop to explain my dilemma, the shop assistant admitted they didn't know how to fix it... so she gave me a customer service number to call.

If you've noticed the problem with that you've done a lot better than me, as I didn't realise there was an issue until I got home and tried to call the number from my still-useless phone. I have no doubt that the world's entire population of hairy-eared Nokia 1610 owners are all gathered together somewhere feeling utterly vindicated and laughing at my misfortune. And I don't blame them.

Just give me one of these and be done with it

On a completely seperate note, I had my first day working at my lycée on Monday. It all started off very nicely- the teachers were all lovely, the school food was fantastic and the students weren't quite as difficult as I'd imagined they'd be. However, it's all become a little bit scary after an otherwise innocuous conversation with one of the teachers took an unexpectedly terrifying turn. After asking when I'd arrived and what I thought of Bordeaux, he looked at me with a slightly-too-friendly smile and asked;

"By the way, can you teach Maths too?" 

In a word, no. 'Maths wasn't my best subject' would be a severe understatement. 'My Maths skills are directly comparable to those of the average anteater' might be nearer the mark. A lot of my teachers at school disliked me for one reason or another, but my A Level Maths teachers were the only ones who ever gave up getting angry at me completely, preferring to settle on pity and resignation to my inevitable failure instead.

And they're wanting me to teach these kids Maths. Thankfully, the students so far have been pretty keen to learn, and while I don't know if that'll be the same with everyone I teach, at least it's a promising start. The first lesson I participated in was focused on starting up a new school newspaper, and had the class of 14-15 year olds suggesting possible articles for the first issue. Eventually, they settled on a comparison of school canteen food in the UK and France, and had told me all about the sort of wonderful French foods their school offered.

After that, we had to make a list of typically English foods found on school menus across the UK... which proved much more difficult. After ten minutes, the extent of our list of exclusively British school foods had stretched to this;

Gravy
Sausage Rolls
Bacon
Custard

I realise that English food is a bit of a joke in France, but the looks of utter bafflement on the faces of the whole class suggested that they'd expected me to put up a bit more of a fight to defend my country's gastronomic honour.  We eventually expanded it to British foods in general, which meant we could add in 'Roast Dinner + Stuffing,' but it was hardly enough to level the score. Oh well- I may have lost the battle, but I've got seven months left to win the cross-channel war. Because we all know how great the French are at winning wars.